Jason really didn’t like the fact that you were so helpless. You weren’t, not really- he’d made sure of it, because the thought of you being helpless and dependent on his protection made him sick- but it still made his skin crawl to leave you alone when he went on long missions.

So when he came home to a destroyed apartment, dried blood in the carpet, and a note from Black Mask detailing where you were and how to get you back… Jason thought he was going to die.

He got you back because there’s no universe where he wouldn’t. He’d move heaven and earth to keep you safe, he’d kill gods upon gods to have you in his arms.

“Hey,” he rumbles, curling around you. There are dead men all around the two of you, and Jason hides your face in his shoulder. He doesn’t want you to see that- it’s bad enough that you heard it, that you heard him lose control. “It’s okay.” He says, squeezing you close. His voice breaks softly and he pulls you closer. “It’s okay. Let’s get you home, baby, ‘Kay? Gonna pick you up.”

He’s never been more grateful for his bike in his life. He gets you home in half an hour, soothing you as best he can the entire time. The moment he gets you in the house he gently lays you on the couch and crouches next to you, pulling his helmet off.

“I’m so fuckin’ sorry, baby.” He whispers, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry. But you’re okay, I won’t let that happen ever again.”

The next person to put their filthy criminal hands on you is going to lose them. Jason will make sure of that.